It's one of those days that I just want to quit.
But I can't.
God's sustaining me.
It's awesome.

Loss at living....

I've been really frustrated lately. I can't quite put my finger on it, other than I know that I've completely and totally had my fill with myself. Seriously. I can't stand myself or the person that I've become. It angers me. I feel like the worlds largest hypocrite. I feel like I've succeeded in becoming America's idea of a Christian.

I'm tired of not following Jesus.

I know people would willingly argue with me and say that I do. Unfortunately, these people don't know what goes on inside of my heart. These people don't know the way that I act when they're not around.

Currently, I've been chasing this stupid idea of Jesus that media and culture and even the church at large has pounded into my brain. It's a Jesus that's okay with chasing himself. It's a Jesus that turns the other way when it sees something it doesn't want to. It's a Jesus that hangs out with people just like him. It's a Jesus that wears funny tshirts. It's a Jesus that listens to emo music and drives a sweet SUV. It's a Jesus that's okay reaching out to only upper-middle class families that have it all together. It's a Jesus that ignores everything he ever said.

That's not the Jesus I encountered.

That's not the Jesus that changed my life.

That's not the Jesus that slapped me in the face.

That's not the Jesus I know.

But it's the Jesus I cling to.

So I'm writing this to say: I'm done. I'm done running after something so shallow. End this scene. Instead, I want something that's going to radically change me. Transform me. I want something that I can share with others. I want something that will ruin others' lives. I want another chance at getting it right, but having the grace to mess it up.

I want to be like Jesus.

I've heard a lot of arguements against that statement. Unfortuantely, I don't agree with any of them. "Be like yourself, why would you want to be someone else?" "Be who God made you to be." I can do that. I will be that. But understand first that I'm going to embrace my role as a disciple. I want to be a disciple. I want to radically embrace Jesus. I want to shower myself in the identity that I now have in him.

I want to be the hands and feet of love that those people don't ever see when standing on a street corner. I want to be the shoulder that someone can cry on when they're beaten. I want to be the one that those people can talk to when they're lonely. I want to be the one that doesn't think twice, but just acts on the impulse of love. I want to love for Jesus' sake. I want to share the story of the man that killed me. I want to see others inherit the kingdom. But honestly, I don't know what I want to be. I want to be whatever this way of living will require.

And the funny thing is, I can't even want this.

I already have it.

working on it...

sex, shoes, and salvation

... compliments of conversation with youth at gracepoint.

The Minister Who Says He is Jesus Christ

For some reason, I think we need to pray for this guy. Or us.
What leads people to think this kind of thing? Thoughts?

This made me laugh, even though it's photoshopped.

...prayer

I've been thinking a lot about prayer lately. About what it really is and what it really isn't. Unfortunately, it only gets worse. I can't figure out either.

Sometimes I wonder what the purpose of prayer really is, such as, why do I even need to bother praying when God already knows what I'm going to say, what I already need, blah blah blah. I've heard that argument too many times for me to even believe it though. That's an excuse. A lame excuse. That's not why someone doesn't pray. I think I don't pray because I'm scared.

I'm scared of something happening. I'm scared that one of these times, God's going to actually audibly speak to me. I'm scared that what I don't know will be told to me, that what I don't see will be revealed. I'm afraid that I might feel closer to God, that I'll become intimate with him. I'm scared that God might actually want to use me to leave a mark on the world. I'm afraid, most of all, that I might actually find myself.

Those are some reasons that I hate praying. Those are reasons that I'm terrified of the One who holds the universe in the palm of his hand. But really though, why do I pray?

I think without prayer I would collapse. I would self-implode. Prayer sustains me. It's 99% of my day. Somehow, prayer isn't always talking towards God's general direction. Prayer is also about listening. It's about thinking. It's about creating, as I said earlier, an intimacy between you and the Author of Life. It's pretty sweet.

I'm trippin'. That's right, I'm trippin'. Everytime that I run recklessly towards Christ, I end up falling flat on my face. I trip over the littlest things. It gets really frustrating not being able to follow Him like I want to. But maybe that's just it: I want to follow him MY way.

Apparently, when I try to do things my way, I fail. Or maybe it's not failure, just not success. I've never really prayed and asked God to show me how I'm supposed to follow him. I don't think we're all supposed to follow Christ in the exact same way anyway. It's shallow. It's dry. It's completely empty when we conform to one another. Perhaps Christians aren't supposed to conform the world to their patterns or the world's to theirs. And in the same way, as Christians, we're not to conform to one another. Maybe we're made to love each other as unfinished living people. To encourage each other as ones being sanctified in Christ.

There's more to that, but I'll put a sock in it.

THE VISION

So this guy comes up to me and says "what's the vision? What's the big idea?" I open my mouth and words come out like this… The vision?

The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.

The vision is an army of young people.

You see bones? I see an army. And they are FREE from materialism.

They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.

They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.

They wouldn't even notice.

They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the west was won.

They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations.

They need no passport..

People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.

They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision?

The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes.

It makes children laugh and adults angry.

It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars.

It scorns the good and strains for the best.

It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.

It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.

This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.

A million times a day its soldiers

choose to loosethat they might one day win

the great 'Well done' of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"

And this is the sound of the underground

The whisper of history in the making

Foundations shaking

Revolutionaries dreaming once again

Mystery is scheming in whispers

Conspiracy is breathing…

This is the sound of the underground

And the army is discipl(in)ed.

Young people who beat their bodies into submission.

Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on their back boasts "for me to live is Christ and to die is gain".

Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs.

Who can stop them ?

Can hormones hold them back?

Can failure succeed?

Can fear scare them or death kill them ?

And the generation prays

like a dying man

with groans beyond talking,

with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and

with great barrow loads of laughter!

Waiting. Watching: 24 – 7 – 365.

Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive

inside.

On the outside? They hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide. Would they surrender their image or their popularity? They would lay down their very lives - swap seats with the man on death row - guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days,

they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.)

Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.

Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.

Don't you hear them coming?

Herald the weirdo's! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the

frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes. They walk tall and trees

applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of

another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and

invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will

come soon.

How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning

of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant

hope is his 3D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a

thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless

angels, from hero's of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the

original dreamer, the ultimate winner.

Guaranteed.

visit www.24-7prayer.com for more

Passion '07

watch the videos, read the news, etc ...

www.268generation.com

Coming January 2007:

more of my ramblings...

Sometimes my desire for something is so strong, it's all I can think about. It's times like those that I like to pray. Prayer. My direct-line to the Writer of my story. I'm one of those people who likes to be in charge of my life. I like control and I hate giving it up. I hate surrendering the part of me that obviously creates the sin in my life: me. My desires get strong and my spirit gets weak. I like trusting God with his timing and his control. Not mine. I always mess things up. So when I have a desire, I put it in God's hands.

Tonight I went to the fall ballet with my mom and sister. It was beautiful. I lived vicariously through the dancers. I imagined myself onstage. In my mind, I drew a picture of myself dancing between notes on a page. Moving in a graceful way. It's a gift of God. Afterwards I spent some time with friends. I thought. Nearly the entire time, I was consumed in my thoughts; in my desire for something so near me.

I walked home. The whole time I thought of ways to take my desires into my own hands. Instead, I gave them to the Father. How better off am I! I wasn't struggling with temptation or sin. Just bad timing. Timing that's yet to arrive for me. Timing beyond my control. Timing I put back into the hands of the Author of Life. The Author of Love.

I have a lot of thoughts. No where to write them but my journal. Sometimes, however, I like my thoughts to be shared because I like feedback on the way my mind works. I tend to write for release a lot of times. That's why this blog is called "Broken Thoughts of a Christian Nomad." My thoughts aren't complete. They're broken. Unwoven. There's always room for more because I inevitably miss things. I'm a Christian Nomad. I wander within the context of my faith in God. Not that I drift away or anything. Sometimes it's just hard for me to sit still. If I get too comfortable somewhere, I have to get up and move or else I don't grow. I tend to find God within the wilderness of Christian community.

So this is it. This is the beginning of brokenness within a tame environment with untamed minds. If I convey the content of my heart with words, I've succeeded in acheiving the brokenness I yearn for with my soul. Because unless God breaks me, there's no way to piece me back together.